


Neglect

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire are not boyfriends. They have kinky sex and if it's too close to what Grantaire's always dreamed of, if it's breaking his heart to have Enjolras so close and so far away, if he's not getting what he needs, he's determined to put up with it anyway. Until he can't anymore.</p><p>Crossposted from the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to put a couple warnings on this fic. It involves explicit consensual D/s relations which include bondage, sadomasochism, and humiliation. Especially at the beginning, there are some really unhealthy relationship dynamics outside of the consensual power exchange. I don't personally consider it abusive, but it definitely could be upsetting or triggering. If there's anything you want to know more specifics about before reading, please let me know in the comments and I'll be happy to specify.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I appreciate any comments you want to leave!

Enjolras is growling a steady stream of absolute filth in Grantaire’s ear as he fucks him. “Dirty slut, filthy little hole, the only thing you’re any good for is this—“

 

And Grantaire is keening steadily, his mind focused all upwards on Enjolras moving above him, thrusting down into him. He’s helpless like this, face down in the mattress with his hands tied behind his back. They’d started with Grantaire on his hands and knees, but somehow he’s ended up like this, flat on his belly as Enjolras uses him. He couldn’t move, no matter how he tried, but he wouldn’t want to. He’s exactly where he needs to be. “Please—“

 

“Quiet,” Enjolras orders, biting Grantaire’s ear in a reprimand.

 

Grantaire restricts himself to broken, helpless noises after that. His mind is unconnected to his mouth, and he’s moaning and whimpering without any thought of how embarassing it is.

 

He’s deeply lost in that sweet haze of subspace by the time Enjolras comes inside him. Enjolras lets out a low groan and his hips stutter. Grantaire feels him roll away almost immediately. There’s some fumbling with the condom, and Grantaire waits for Enjolras to come untie him and maybe pet him a little.

 

Grantaire stays very, very still. He hasn’t been given permission to move, and he doesn’t know what’s happening. It isn’t like Enjolras to leave him in uncertainty—he may not be the world’s most attentive dom, but he does give very clear orders. He lies still, trying not to move, trying to stifle the feeling as the warm fog of subspace sours, turning into a terrible anxiety deep in his gut. Usually this is so wonderful because he knows what to do to please Enjolras and can do it, but now that’s turned into the opposite, he doesn’t know, and he’s still in that unbroken focus of wanting to please and nothing more, and he doesn’t know what to do.

 

“Enjolras?” he risks, after a few seconds. The worst he’ll get is a smack and a reprimand, and though he usually tries his best to be good, because God knows Enjolras could find a better sub than Grantaire if he went looking, this time it’s worth the risk.

There’s no answer.

 

Tentatively, Grantaire lifts his head and looks over.

 

Enjolras has fallen asleep next to him. He’s beautiful as always, creamy skin still flushed with the exertion of sex, his golden hair lying in a perfect tangle around his head. His chest rises and falls in an even rhythm, and his eyes are peacefully shut, half a smile on his lovely lips.

 

Luckily, the knots around his wrists aren’t hard to untie. He fumbles with them for a few moments, the task made harder by the fact that his hands are bound behind his back, so he can’t see what he’s doing. However, the fabric of the cravat with which Enjolras had bound him has some give to it, and all it takes is a few firm tugs before he’s able to wiggle his wrists out.

 

He ought to go back to his own apartment, but he knows his head is spinning too fiercely for him to be able to make it home safely, and Enjolras would likely be angry with him in the morning if he tried it.

 

If Enjolras even cared enough to notice. At this point, who knows whether he would.

 

Self-pity will get him nowhere, and he tries not to lapse into it as he gets back into the bed. He’s careful not to touch Enjolras at all, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Grantaire curls up on his side, facing away from Enjolras the way he would usually.

 

Usually Enjolras likes to cuddle him a little bit after a scene. He isn’t generous with aftercare, but Grantaire doesn’t mind. Tries not to mind. It’s Enjolras, after all, and the little bits of attention he finds for Grantaire, the murmured “Good boy, you did well,” in his ear that’s become almost perfunctory, the untying of his bonds and careful rubbing of the marks to make sure he’s got his circulation back, the wiping him clean of sweat and fluids, the gentle hand on him to make him come, all of that is more than enough.

 

It’s usually two or three minutes, no more, and then Enjolras will either hold him while he gets his much-needed sleep (usually when he calls Grantaire over like this it’s because he has some kind of insomnia) or he’ll get up and work let Grantaire laze on the couch beside him. It’s nice, usually.

 

Not like this. This is awful.

 

Grantaire realizes absently that he’s still hard. He won’t touch himself, though. That would be wrong, lying here in Enjolras’ bed, looking at him, getting off on his beauty without his knowledge.

 

No, sooner or later his erection will go away, along with the awful, sinking feeling in Grantaire’s stomach. Sooner or later he won’t feel like this. He won’t feel like all the things Enjolras said to him in the scene, the things that in the moment were so hot and appealing, were actually horrible, hard truths.

 

Sooner or later, he won’t feel like he’s been used.

 

He tries to be quiet as he cries himself to sleep. He can’t help the sobs that come, ridiculous and pathetic as he knows he’s being. His tears are helpless, as helpless as the moans that came out of him during the scene. He can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t help crying, can’t calm down. He can feel himself starting to panic, his breaths coming faster and faster. He’s hyperventilating now, and Enjolras is still sleeping beside him, because Enjolras doesn’t care.

 

Doesn’t care enough to take two minutes to untie him and help him out of subspace. That’s all it would take, really. Grantaire has never demanded much of Enjolras in the way of aftercare. He may secretly, silently crave it, of course. He probably always will. There will always be a part of him that wonders what these stolen hours of sex, the moment when he gets close enough to touch the flame burning in Enjolras, would be like if Enjolras gave a damn about him. He knows it’s no use, but he imagines what it would be like if Enjolras loved him back.

 

If Enjolras wanted to draw him close, kiss him, caress him, afterwards, instead of treating aftercare like the price he has to pay for getting off. If Enjolras praised him and meant it, instead of the only gentle words he’s ever said to Grantaire being about his submission. If Enjolras whispered words of love into his skin instead of falling asleep right after because all Grantaire will ever be to him is stress relief.

 

But if any of that were to happen, Grantaire would probably have to deserve it, instead of being a worthless piece of shit who ought to be grateful for the scraps Enjolras gives him because it’s more than he should get.

 

Grantaire lets self-pity and self-hatred take him over and sobs himself to sleep.

 

A nightmare wakes him at around three, one of those horrible anxiety dreams when he’s falling and falling and there’s nothing to fall into and he’s nothing and—

 

Enjolras is still fast asleep, his beautiful face peaceful.

 

Grantaire quietly reaches over and dares to steal a single kiss, pressing his rough and unworthy lips to the pale curve of Enjolras’ cheek, where his long eyeleashes are casting a delicate shadow on his face, and then he goes.

 

If Enjolras sees him in the morning, he’ll probably realize what happened and feel guilty, and that’s the last thing Grantaire wants. Enjolras may not give a shit about Grantaire, but he cares about doing the right thing in a general sense, and he’s the kind of person who likes to follow the rules, even the rules of kinky sex. That’s the only reason Enjolras ever bothers with aftercare in the first place, and he’ll probably be devastated to realize that he’s broken the rules.

 

And he would have been upset to see Grantaire sobbing last night. There’s a reason Grantaire always reacts to his cruel words in meetings or arguments with cynicism, and it isn’t out of pride—if he were to let his hurt and pain show, Enjolras would feel guilty. He probably wouldn’t stop lashing out with insults, because he has a temper and he’s passionate and those are things Grantaire loves about him, because Grantaire loves everything about him. Grantaire might speak up if it would stop Enjolras hurting him, but it wouldn’t. It would just make Enjolras feel guilty and Grantaire doesn’t want that. All he wants—in fact, almost all he thinks about, since he and Enjolras started sleeping together, is making Enjolras’ life easier in whatever little ways he can, now that he’s allowed to. He’s not sure if it’s his depression or his submission or his love but something makes him want to give Enjolras anything he can, no matter how little it does for him or how much it costs Grantaire to do it.

 

So he won’t ever let Enjolras find out what happened after the scene. If Enjolras remembers when he wakes up, Grantaire will laugh it off, so he doesn’t have to feel guilty. And it probably won’t happen again.

 

Grantaire gets dressed. He feels stiff and sore, whether from the rough sex or the lack of sleep he isn’t certain. He makes his way down the stairs and out of Enjolras’ apartment, and down the street to his own, and only then does he start to cry again, as he curls up in his own bed, cold, abandoned, and alone.

In the morning, Grantaire’s first thought is “I’d quite like to punch everyone who’s ever thought depression is romantic.”

 

His second thought is gratitide that his phone is within reach, because he’s quite thirsty and he’s so sad he’s not sure he could move to get out of the bed.

 

His arms feel heavy and his whole body so weak it’s almost as though he’s floating. His head is throbbing. He can’t cry, though, he’s got no tears left.

 

He thinks, very, very briefly, of calling Enjolras. He would no doubt come. He would even help. He’d fetch water for Grantaire and rub his back while he wept and convince him to eat. And then Grantaire would never, ever see him again, because Enjolras would feel so guilty it would be the end of their arrangement.

 

No one answers when he calls Joly’s—all three of them must be out—so he dials Jehan next.

 

“What is it, darling?”

 

“I’m not feeling well,” Grantaire says. “C-can—“

 

“I’ll be there in a moment. What can I bring you?”

 

“Coffee.”

 

“If you’re sick—“

 

“Not—I mean, I’m—“ He tries to find the words to say it’s his brain that’s sick, not his body, but he can’t. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.

 

“I understand. I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Hold on for me.”

 

“Thank you,” Grantaire says, feeling so pathetically grateful he wants to weep again.

 

He doesn’t cry, though, and Jehan is there soon, with a cup of coffee and a bottle of water and a muffin. He hands Grantaire the coffee, sits down on the foot of his bed, and kisses his cheek.

 

“All right, my love. Tell me what happened.”

 

“Nothing happened. I’m stupid.”

 

“You’re not stupid. Even you know that isn’t true. You’re one of the most intelligent people I know, Grantaire.”

 

“I’m a fuck-up. I’m useless,” he says, hating the way Jehan winces to hear him say it, but he needs to hear him contradict it, even if it’s awful. Because why wouldn’t Grantaire be willing to let sweet Jehan weep over poor fucked up Grantaire, because he’s just that self-centered and pathetic.

 

“Is this—did Enjolras do something last night?”

 

Grantaire shakes his head. “It’s not his fault. It’s just my brain, doing that thing it does.”

 

“Have you been drinking?”

 

“No.” He’d quit for Enjolras, because Enjolras will kick him right out of bed if he smells alcohol, and there’s no drink in the world as intoxicating as a kiss from his angel.

 

“That’s good. I’m proud of you, darling,” Jehan says, and Grantaire tries so hard not to weep again.  “Oh, sweetheart. What did I say?”

 

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

 

“You know I shan’t leave til you tell me.”

 

“I—I just wish—it’s pathetic.”

 

“Tell me anyway,” Jehan urges. “I won’t judge you. You know that.”

 

“I just—I only—I’d do anything, if I could just get Enjolras to—to say that. To be proud of me.”

 

“I’m sure he is,” Jehan says, and bless his sweet heart, apparently means it.

 

Grantaire can’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “The only thing Enjolras thinks I’m any good for is sex.”

 

“I know you’re having a hard day, but that just isn’t true. He’d be horrified if he thought you believed that—“

 

“Really? Because he said it himself,” Grantaire says, instantly regretting the words. He hates the thing his brain does when he’s upset, the way he just says things he probably shouldn’t, because Jehan’s whole face is going cold.

 

“I- I can’t- no, but I can. I can believe he would be that cruel. Don’t worry, darling, I’ll call ‘Ferre, and he’ll-“

 

“No, don’t.”

 

“Grantaire, even you have to admit… that’s abusive. I know what a pedestal you put him on, but telling you—telling you that—it’s abuse, and probably coercive as well, and—“

 

“It’s not like that. It was—I mean, it’s… it’s a sex thing. I agreed to it. You promised not to judge.”

 

“I promised not to judge you,” Jehan clarifies. “And you may be having the kinkiest sex in the world, darling, but it’s not all right if you really _believe_ he means it. And don’t bother pretending you don’t, you just said you do. Now what really happened?”

 

Grantaire takes a deep breath and tells him. “He fell asleep right after sex. He didn’t let me come, and he didn’t bother untying me. My wrists were behind my back. I got myself untied and fell asleep for a few hours and then snuck out while Enjolras was still sleeping.”

 

“Why didn’t you wake him?”

 

Grantaire shakes his head. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

 

“You need to talk to him.”

 

“I can’t. It’s my job to help him with stress, to be his release. Not to give him another problem to deal with. This is the only thing I can do for him.”

 

“Grantaire,” Jehan says, an uncharacteristic hint of sharpness in his voice. “How do you think Enjolras would feel, if he knew you were allowing him to mistreat you like this? If he knew you felt miserable and heartbroken, so depressed you can’t move from your own bed, after having sex? If he knew you were this _afraid_ of him when what you’re doing is supposed to be an act of trust?”

 

“I do trust him. I’d let him do anything.”

 

“But not because you trust him,” Jehan says. “Because you don’t care about yourself.”

 

Grantaire shrugs. “Whichever. I’d rather have things keep going this way then have Enjolras break up with me. Or break things off. I mean, we’re not together.”

 

“Talk to him. For his sake, if not for your own,” Jehan urges, and Grantaire sighs.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

* * *

The silence in the library, late at night, is broken by the harsh sound of a cellphone vibrating against a table.

 

Enjolras looks down at his phone and frowns. There’s a text from Grantaire. Grantaire never initiates anything. This is probably the first time he’s ever gotten a text from Grantaire out of nowhere like this.

 

He thinks for a second, suddenly realizing it’s been a while since he’s seen the other man—almost two weeks. He just hadn’t remembered to call.  And it’s not like Grantaire is his boyfriend- he’s not sure what to call the strange, sexual, relationship that’s sprung up between the two of them.

 

“Feeling anxious. Scene? Pls?”

 

It has been a while. Maybe too long. He’s been tense, and busy, and hasn’t had much of an appetite for sex. Although he wouldn’t mind, since Grantaire is asking, he honestly doesn’t have time right now. Enjolras texts him back, “No. Weekend maybe.”

 

He’s shocked when his phone buzzes again. It isn’t like Grantaire to persist. Then it buzzes again, and again. Three texts. The first one reads, “It’s bad. Rlly need u.”

 

Then, “U said u wanted to help w/this stuff.”

 

The last text says, “Nevermind, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. Next weekend is great. Hope we can do it then. Don’t mean to pester you. Really sorry.”

 

Enjolras sighs. Grantaire has been trying (and mostly succeeding) to quit drinking, and Enjolras had promised to help where he could. Submission does more than get Grantaire off, it also clearly helps with his issues. Enjolras likes that—frankly, it helps him get over his issues around sex, that he feels like he’s doing some good for his friend when they do this together.

 

However, he truly does need to finish this work.

 

He thinks about it for a while. He wouldn’t even have to do much. He could just put Grantaire on his knees while he finishes up this essay, and maybe he’d work a bit faster if he had Grantaire waiting for him when he finished.

 

On the other hand, he tends to be kind of an absolutist with his schoolwork, and there’s every chance that he won’t actually get a damn thing done if Grantaire is there. He’ll probably get distracted by the other man and end up wanting to experiment with one of the many kinks they haven’t gotten to yet, so he’s better off just ignoring Grantaire’s request.

 

He feels bad ignoring Grantaire’s request, but it’s probably the best thing to do. 

 

Another text. “I’ll stop bugging you after this. Promise. U can keep ignoring me if yr pissed. I just wanted to let u know I’m sorry for being all needy and annoying ange.”

 

Enjolras can’t help but smile a little bit at the stupid, punny nickname. He intends to text Grantaire back and let him know he really isn’t upset, but then Combeferre is tapping him on the shoulder.

 

“What are you up to?”

 

“Sorry, text from-“

 

“We really need that letter to the editor, if we’re going to send it in.”

 

Enjolras nods, putting his phone back down on the table. “Right. Totally slipped my mind. Help me draft it?”

 

They’re talking about the wording of their draft for another several hours. It’s three in the morning before they finish, and Enjolras still has to finish his essay after that. At five, when he finally stumbles home, he realizes that he’d forgotten all about Grantaire’s text.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire can’t help the twitch of his hips towards Enjolras’ fingers. He’s been on the edge for _ages,_ hard and aching, as Enjolras teases him right to the edge and leaves him hanging, wanting, over and over again. His cock hurts he’s so hard, and so he can’t help it.

 

Still, Enjolras withdraws completely.

 

Grantaire was expecting a slap or something. He wasn’t expecting Enjolras to climb off him and _stand up,_ leaving him untouched.

 

“I told you to be still,” Enjolras says, his voice cold.

 

“I’m sorry.” He’s trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

 

“This is the second time you’ve disobeyed me today.”

 

Grantaire had come without permission earlier, thus the pinning-down-and-teasing routine. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

 

“If you can’t even take your punishment obediently, I’m not sure you’re worth the effort I put into correcting your behavior,” Enjolras says.

 

“I’m sorry. Give me another chance. Please.”

 

“Very well. I’m going to finish preparing tomorrow’s speech. It should take about an hour. When I’m finished, I’ll return. If you’re still in place, we’ll finish the scene. If you can’t stay still for me, you might as well get up and leave.”

 

“Okay,” Grantaire says, his mind going blank with panic. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want Enjolras to make him leave. He’ll do whatever it takes.

 

“Don’t move,” Enjolras reminds him, and then closes the door.

 

Grantaire just stays there, trying to breathe. It’s hard. He’s hard, and aching, and his mind is a strange haze of absolute misery, because he’s disappointed Enjolras again.

 

He wasn’t trying to. Enjolras’ mouth just felt so good, earlier, that he couldn’t help the orgasm that washed over him—not just that, though, if he’s honest with himself. Enjolras had looked up at him, with something—something in his eyes that was almost—affection, maybe? Grantaire isn’t sure what to call it, but it’s nothing like the coldness Grantaire saw from him right before he left Grantaire here, alone in subspace and miserable. It was that—yes, fondness, Grantaire will go as far as that. Enjolras had looked at him with fondness, and he couldn’t control himself.

 

Well, he’s certainly learned his lesson. He’ll never make the mistake of thinking Enjolras gives a shit about him ever again

 

Grantaire is crying again, which is pathetic. He can’t move to wipe away the tears because Enjolras might come back in to check on him and see, so he just lets them pool on his face, turning cold and sticky as they dry.

 

He knows he should be fighting against the wave of tears. He knows it’ll mean having a conversation with Enjolras that he just isn’t interested in, if Enjolras comes back and finds him like this. But there’s a part of him, a tiny part, but a real one nonetheless, that’s insisting that maybe that isn’t true. Maybe he wants Enjolras to see him cry. He wants Enjolras to feel guilty for leaving him like this. He wants Enjolras to make him feel better.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. It feels like a while, but that could be wrong. He’s pretty out of it, still deep in subspace. And Enjolras is gone, and it hurts, it hurts worse than the ache from being teased and denied, worse than the bruises from the beating Enjolras gave him the other day.

 

This isn’t dominance anymore, it’s something else, and it’s more than Grantaire can go on taking.

 

Grantaire takes a deep breath, feeling suddenly, oddly calm.

 

Jehan is right. He can’t put Enjolras in the position of forcing Grantaire into something when he doesn’t even know that Grantaire doesn’t want it. It’s not fair to Enjolras. It’s not the right way to treat the man he loves, the man he is so devoted to.

 

He wants to give Enjolras what little he can, so he’ll give him honesty, even if it costs Grantaire their relationship (costs him everything).

 

“Enjolras?” he calls, not moving, staying obediently in place.

 

Enjolras opens the door back up. “I hope this is important, slut, I’m working-“

 

“Safeword,” Grantaire says softly, and lets the tears fall again. 

 

Instantly, Enjolras is at his side. “R? What’s the matter?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire chokes out through the tears. “Sir, I’m sorry, don’t be angry, I’m sorry. I just- I just- I don’t know what-“

 

“Don’t apologize. You can move. It’s all right.” Enjolras’ voice is calm and steady, and Grantaire is just so relieved. Enjolras is here, Enjolras is controlling him, and that’s what he needs. It’s the only thing he needs.

 

Grantaire sits up, and then, on sheer impulse, throws his arms around Enjolras’ neck. The other man seems surprised, but not angry. In fact, he wraps his own arms around Grantaire’s back, holding him close.

 

It feels so good that Grantaire’s tears crescendo again, in sheer relief. He knows, he knows that this is the end of everything, that as soon as Enjolras knows what’s going on it means this is the last time Grantaire will ever steal a minute in his arms, so he’s going to soak up every second of it. He needs this moment, this feeling, this illusion that he’s worthy of being touched by Enjolras, of being cared for gently and with love, to last the rest of his miserable, lonely life.

 

He has to stop thinking like this and just enjoy it.

 

And it does feel good. Enjolras is holding him close, supporting him, and stroking his hands through Grantaire’s hair as Grantaire cries into his shirt.

 

“Take as long as you need, my R, but when you’re ready, I want you to tell me what I can do to help.”

 

“Stay,” Grantaire sobs, pleading.

 

“Of course. What else?”

 

“Just that. Just stay. Please. Don’t make me go.”

 

“Is that what I did wrong? Leaving you alone during the scene?”

 

“Please don’t make me talk about it yet.”

 

“Okay. What else?”

 

“Tell me- please, tell me what to do? What I should be- I don’t know what to-“

 

“All right. You’re doing well, Grantaire. I want you to sit back against the headboard for me, okay? Just like this. I won’t let go of you, I promise. See, I’ve still got your hand. I’m going to reach of the bed and get a tissue, so I can wipe off your face, and then you should try and drink a little water for me.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire agrees, and Enjolras sighs. 

 

“You know you don’t need to do that, right?”

 

“I do. I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember.” Grantaire has to get used to that anyway. After all, he isn’t Enjolras’ anymore, or soon he won’t be.

 

“Don’t apologize for anything. I just want you to make sure you know that the scene is completely over, okay? I can take care of you, give you orders if that’s what you need, but you can do whatever you’d like, talk however you’d like, move or leave or whatever you want.”

 

“Thank you. Thank you for doing this. For staying. I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry for what?”

 

“I don’t mean to be a burden on you. I’m sorry I’m so- I’m sorry I’m so needy.”

 

“Grantaire, you do know you have every right to need things from me, don’t you?”

 

“Right,” Grantaire mumbles, and Enjolras cups his cheek, making Grantaire meet his eyes, his blue eyes full of concern—a concern so deep it’s almost like grief.

 

“We really, really need to talk,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire lets himself take one more deep sob into Enjolras’ shoulder, one more moment in his arms, before pulling away and nodding, once, as ready as he’ll ever be to lose the one thing he’s always wanted most.

 

“All right,” Grantaire says. “What do you want to know?”

 

“First, I’d like your word that you’re going to be honest with me. Can you do that?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And what can I do for you? What do you need?”

 

Grantaire’s hands are shaking, but he manages to stop the tears from coming out. He’s obviously going to cry before the night is over, but he’d like to keep the pathetic-ness to an absolute minimum. “Just- when we’re done. When you’re done with me. Make sure I’m okay. Before you make me leave. And. I’d like it if we could still be- well, I guess we aren’t really friends, but… you know. Whatever we were before.”

 

“Grantaire? What’s going on?” And Enjolras looks so honestly worried, like he—like he cares.

 

“I’m in love with you,” Grantaire says quietly. “I’ve been in love with you since probably the day we met. You are the best thing—maybe the only good thing—in my life. I would do anything, anything at all, to make you happy, but I can’t… I can’t keep going like this.”

 

“Like—“

 

“I know you aren’t cruel on purpose,” Grantaire says. “I know that. I don’t think you would- it just- it isn’t fair to you. That half the time when our scenes are over I can _tell_ that you think I’m happy, that you think this is a good, a positive thing, for both of us, and I—“ He takes a deep breath. “I’m happy because I’m making you happy, I’m happy because I’m getting to be close to you, but those are the only good things left, for me, about what’s happening between us. I’m not- I mean, I enjoy- I enjoy our sex, but there’s not- it’s not what I want.”

 

“What do you want?” Enjolras says, gently, so gently it almost seems like it can’t be him.

 

“What do I want? I want a thousand things I’ll never have. I want you to take care of me after scenes because you want to, not because you feel obligated to. I want you to care about me. I want you to be the one to call, to text, to want to spend time together. I want you to rely on me for things that aren’t getting you off. I want us to do things together that aren’t sex. I want to be more than your fuckbuddy. I want to be your friend. I want to be your lover. More than anything, I want you to love me back.”

 

“I can’t change how I feel,” Enjolras says, and his voice is full of regret.

 

“I know. It’s not your fault-“

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Be honest, R. Please. Finish the sentence.”

 

“It’s not your fault that I’m not good enough for you to love,” Grantaire whispers, looking away.

 

“That’s not—Grantaire, love isn’t something you earn.”  
  
“Isn’t it, though?” Grantaire lets out a bitter laugh. “I mean, okay, maybe not literally, but can you seriously imagine someone like you being in love with someone like me?”  
  
"What do you mean? What am I like, that I could be so untouchable? How do you see yourself, that you're somehow unworthy of love?"  
  
"Never mind."  
  
"No, Grantaire. You said you would talk to me. Please. I need- if we're going to try and fix things, I need you to be honest."  
  
That last- that suggestion that maybe there's something to fix- spurs Grantaire to honesty. "All right. If you really want to hear this whole mess of my feelings. You asked for it. There’s been some stuff- well, honestly, a lot. A lot of stuff, recently. That’s made me really uncomfortable,” Grantaire says. “I- I’ve always felt like I want more aftercare, but there’s been less and less recently, and I know you’re busy but it’s- it’s not fair to Jehan, that I had to- that I had to rely on him, y’know, to help with the fallout from my sex life.”

 

“You called Jehan?” Enjolras asks, horrified.

 

“I was- there was one time, you fell asleep right after, and drop turned right into depression, so I had to- I couldn’t even get out of bed. I know that’s pathetic-“

 

“No. No, why wouldn’t you call me?”

 

“I didn’t want you to feel bad,” Grantaire mumbles. “I figured I could get through it on my own but then I needed help and-“

 

“And why didn’t you speak up about needing more aftercare?”

 

“I hate to feel like a burden. I know this doesn’t mean anything to you, that it’s just about the sex, and I’m fine w- well, I’m not really fine. I wouldn’t say fine. But I’ve made the choice to accept that. I came into this thing knowing what I was getting, which was ‘some of your attention, sometimes, when you were in the mood for sex, and that’s it’, and I’m _happy_ to take what I can get. It’s fucked up and probably pitiful, but I—all I’ve ever wanted is to make you happy, Enjolras. For you to be happy and for me to have something to do with why. I thought I’d never have a way to do that. And you gave me one. I can be yours. I can take what you give me and not ask for more and that’s good, that’s more than good enough for me, because you’re letting me do something for you. I just don’t want to lose that. All I want is not to lose that.”

 

“What—you thought I wouldn’t be happy any more, if you asked me for aftercare? Did you think I’d say no?”

 

“No, but… It means nothing if you don’t want to. I know it’d be a hardship, and I don’t want to put a burden on you. I don’t want bother you. It’s better for me to just shut up and take what I’m given. I’m lucky to have that much.“

 

Enjolras’ eyes are shining. Grantaire doesn’t know what that means until he speaks again, and there’s a tremor in his voice. He’s about to cry. Enjolras is about to cry. And that’s exactly why they’ve gone so long without speaking about this, because it’s unbearable. Grantaire wants to take back every word he’s said. He wants to die, rather than be the cause of that miserable look on Enjolras’ face. “I’ve let you feel this way.”

 

“It’s not your fault-“

 

“But I have. I’ve let you go on thinking that you’re not- that I don’t- I may not be in love with you, Grantaire, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. That doesn’t mean I- you really believe I’m just using you for sex. All those things I said, all that dirty talk, you believe.”

 

“I—some of them. Yes.”

 

“You really think that of me? That I could objectify—that I could use—another person like that? Putting aside the question of whether or not I have feelings for you—R, if you were a stranger off the street, I wouldn’t—“

 

“Don’t think that,” Grantaire pleads. “Please, please, however this- never think that I don’t love you. Revere you. Respect you. It’s not you I have no faith in. It’s me. I know you’d never be so cruel to anyone else. I’m the exception, and it’s because I’m the only one who you’d treat like this, the only one who doesn’t deserve your consideration, your-“

 

“Have I been cruel?”

 

“Not cruel. Neglectful, maybe. You left me tied up after a scene. You said you’d help me with the anxiety and didn’t. You never answer when I text, only when you initiate. You never say a kind word to me that isn’t about the sex—I’m sorry, Enjolras. You asked me to be honest.”

 

“No,” Enjolras says, quietly. “Thank you, R. It means a great deal.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire repeats, desperately, as Enjolras’ jaw sets, clearly making up his mind.

 

“We can’t do this anymore,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire laughs.

 

He laughs because he knew. He always knew this moment would come. He knew that if he ever dared to ask for more than what he was given, he’d have to lose Enjolras (lose everything) and yet he still trusts Enjolras _so much_ that he had to take the chance. Because he still has this belief, this belief that he can’t shake no matter how he tries. He still looks at Enjolras and thinks ‘this man will make me happy, this man will make me whole’ and he doesn’t know why, because he’s never felt hollower.

 

“I’m sorry, Grantaire.”

 

“I understand.” Understand that I’ve never been good enough for you, not for a second, and that the ruse was nice while it lasted but it was always going to end just like this. It was going to end with Enjolras walking away—for Grantaire’s own good, sure, why not. What does it matter why, when he’s about to be gone and Grantaire will have nothing. Again.

 

“It’s just—I can’t—I could have really hurt you, and you never would have stopped me. I could have beaten you bloody, or… or raped you, and I might never even have known that you weren’t consenting. I can’t-“

 

“But I did stop you,” Grantaire protests, and he told himself he wasn’t going to fight this but he can’t just sit back and lose everything in this world he loves. “I stopped you when I really needed you to stop, didn’t I?”

 

“You did, but- it sounds like there were other times, that you didn’t and—and when you needed to.” Enjolras is being so, so gentle. His voice is full of something soft and sweet that Grantaire rarely  hears- at least, directed at him. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me there’s never been a moment that you let yoruself be uncomfortable or unhappy for my sake?”

 

“That’s- when I’m submitting, sure. It’s a whole thing.”

 

“Not for those reasons. I mean, have there ever been times when you were afraid of how I would react… afraid I wouldn’t stop, or that I’d hurt you-“

 

“Enjolras, no. I don’t think you’re secretly an evil abuser. I never for a second- if I ever didn’t stop you, it wasn’t because I was afraid you’d hurt me or something. I was afraid of—well, of this. I figure—you know, I should shut up and take what you’re willing to give because if I asked for more you might—you might—“ Grantaire pulls himself together, sharply. “You might not be willing to give it. You might realize you didn’t want to spare any more time for me and—I’m happier with whatever you give me. The scraps. The… the few minutes when—this is so fucked up, but I don’t care that you’re using me. I love that you’re using me. Because it means I’m good for something. It means I’m good for something to you.”

 

“I can’t,” Enjolras says, softly. “I’m sorry, Grantaire. I really am sorry. But I can’t do this to you. I don’t think I could—I mean, the thought is—this isn’t what I want. This isn’t something I can do.”

 

“So—“

 

“We—I’d like it if we could go back to the way things were. Before. We could be friends.”

 

“We were friends?” Grantaire asks, bitterly.

 

Enjolras looks hurt, but he sighs. “Well, if we weren’t, I’d like to be.”

 

“Anything you want,” Grantaire says, bitterly regretting the words as Enjolras’ eyes fill with tears.

 

“I must—you must have—“ Enjolras stammers, and beneath everything there’s a little bit of pleasure that Grantaire’s brought him, _him,_ to wordlessness. He must at least begin to care.

 

“What?”

 

“The things I said. During sex. I’ve just realized. You mustn’t have- you didn’t- believe-“

 

Grantaire can’t name the emotion in Enjolras’ voice, which is strange, because if there’s one subject he considers himself an expert on, it’s Enjolras. It sounds lke it’s a physical effort to get the words out, like every one has to be wrenched through his throat, like he’s in _pain_ from having hurt Grantaire. Grantaire thinks, once again, about lying. But he’s gone far enogh down this rabbit hole. “If I did, it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“But I’m the one who said those things.”

  
“Enjolras. If I’d told you not to, you would have stopped. I know, I know you didn’t mean it. I believe- okay, you want to hear it, I’ll say it. When you say, during sex, that I’m useless and filthy and only good for being fucked, yes, I believe that. But not because you said it. Because I walked in the room thinking that shit about myself and I- I know you don’t think it. I know. And it does turn me on and maybe it’s sick but I liked it. I liked that it was you saying these fucked-up things that I believe to me because it made it… I don’t know. I don’t know, but it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that I’m so fucked in the head that I’d let you-“

 

“I should have asked,” Enjolras says. “It was careless of me to- I could see the effect it had on you, in a sexual sense. I should have paid more attention to your emotions, but I was…”

 

“What?”

 

“I think,” Enjolras confesses, quietly, “that I’ve always known how you feel about me. I think I liked that. And I was using you, R, using you even though I know you’re in love with me. Because I could trust you to explore this with me. Because I knew you’d always be there for me. Because I was- I got off on how devoted you were to me.” Enjolras sounds disgusted with himself.

 

“I know,” Grantaire says. “If you’re trying to make me angry at you- fuck, Enjolras, you think I didn’t know all of this? I was- I am- just grateful that I was worth something to you, for a little while.”

 

“Don’t,” Enjolras says fiercely. “Please don’t. I’m not stopping things between us because I don’t think you’re worth it. It’s because you’re worth more, worth more than I’ve been giving you, and I want you to have the things you deserve.”

 

“Worth more than you have given me, or worth more than you can give me?”

 

“I’m not asking for a second chance with this, Grantaire. Just your forgiveness for the way I’ve treated you, though I know I don’t deserve it.”

 

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

 

Enjolras sighs. “Please. You don’t have to- I just- I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. I truly am.”

 

“Like I said, it’s nothing. Not worth you worrying about.”

 

“There must be something I can do to make this up to you,” Enjolras says.

 

“Go out for dinner with me,” Grantaire blurts, regretting the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

 

“Grantaire, I-“ Enjolras begins.

 

“Forget it,” Grantaire excuses, standing up and starting to look for his clothes. “Forget I said anything. I don’t want to coerce you into spending time with me because you feel guilty. It was just a stupid joke. Good old R, making a fool of himself once again for everyone’s amusement. Anyway, I’m going to go. I’ll see you at the meeting, yeah?”

 

“R-“

 

“And seriously, Enjolras, don’t beat yourself up over this. I’m not mad or anything. We had fun, I overstepped things, you decided it wasn’t worth trying for more. It’s fine. We’re cool.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras repeats, and Grantaire practically flees.

 

He texts Jehan, Joly, and Bossuet while he’s walking, because he knows as soon as he gets home he’ll collapse.

 

“Talked to E. Didn’t go well. We’re done.”

 

He doesn’t get a reply, but that’s okay. He doesn’t expect much. He’ll just go home and lie in his bed and maybe have a drink or two or three and fall asleep hopefully.

 

It’s probably another sign of just how right Enjolras is about his dangerously low self-esteem that he’s genuinely surprised when he opens the apartment door and Musichetta hands him a mug of tea, while Joly fusses around, tidying up the mess that is Grantaire’s apartment, Bossuet carries in a huge stack of movies on DVD, Bahorel is pacing back and forth, and Jehan opens up his arms for a long hug.

 

Grantaire almost starts crying as soon as he’s in his gentle friend’s embrace, but he manages to prevent the tears of gratitude and relief and he-doesn’t-know-what-else that well up in his eyes from spilling over.

 

“Sit down,” Jehan suggests firmly. “Drink your tea.”

 

Grantaire nods, feeling pathetic and relieved all at the same time, and does.

 

“Tell us what happened,” Joly urges.

 

“Not much to tell. I told Enjolras that I’m in love with him and that I wish we could be a little more, like, emotionally intimate, and maybe he could be a little more invested or whatever, and that’s not what he wants, so we’re over.”

 

Bahorel bristles visibly with anger. “You’re telling me you asked Enjolras to treat you better and he broke up with you?”

 

“We weren’t together.”

 

“Or broke things off, whatever. That’s so unbelievably shitty.”

 

“It wasn’t like that,” Grantaire mumbles. “He just- he feels bad about the way he treats me, but he doesn’t care enough to treat me better, so we’re done.”

 

“That’s what he said?” Jehan asks carefully.

 

“Well obviously didn’t come right out and say ‘I don’t give a shit about your feelings but you’re making me feel guilty with all this love stuff so get out of my apartment you useless sack of shit.’ That part was implied.”

 

“Grantaire-“

 

“Sorry,” Grantaire says. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

 

“No, no,” Jehan soothes. “Don’t apologize. Come here.”

 

“It’s just-“ Grantaire says, trying not to cry. “It’s just that it’s hopeless. If it were any other reason. Anything else. I wouldn’t give up. I wouldn’t. But once Enjolras has it into his head that something is _wrong…_ He’d never go against his fucking principles. Certainly not for me.”

 

“Oh, R,” Jehan sighs. “What can we do?”

 

“Do you want me to beat Enjolras up?” Bahorel suggests hopefully.

 

“Of course not,” Grantaire says.

 

“Damn. It’d make me feel _so much better._ ”

 

“No, Bahorel.”

 

“Please?”

 

“Bahorel. Stop it,” Grantaire says, a little harshly. “Sorry. It’s just. That’s not- he wasn’t like that. He just- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize. Tell us what we can do,” Joly says.

 

“I just- it’s just that there’s no way. We’re over. Me and Enjolras are done. And if I’d just kept my mouth shut, we wouldn’t be.”

 

“You couldn’t keep going like that,” Jehan says.

 

“But I could,” Grantaire insists. “I could have. I could have keeped having that small part of him, that- whatever he was willing to give me. I got too greedy and I lost everything.”

 

“Was what you had really worth keeping, though?” Joly asks. “I could see- we could all see- how unhappy you were.”

 

“I was making Enjolras happy, though. And that’s all that matters.”

 

Grantaire can hear his friends sighing at him before he’s even got the words out. He wants to apologize again, but knows better. Instead, he resigns himself to drinking his tea and being fussed over. A part of him wants to be alone so he can sink into pathetic misery, but he knows better. That’s why he contacted them in the first place, because he knows himself well enough that he knows if he was alone, he’d drink as fast as he could and maybe hurt himself.

 

That’s what he wants to do in this moment, but he knows it won’t be true forever. The anxiety and disappointment and self-hate and just plain sadness will fade, and he’d regret it if he went back to drinking away his feelings because of this.

 

Instead he lets Bossuet put _Lord of the Rings_ in and they marathon the movies and make Grantaire drink an absurd number of cups of tea and order a pizza that Grantaire valiantly tries not to touch, on the grounds that he ought to be too heartbroken to eat, and then gives in and eats five slices of.

 

And when the rest of them have fallen asleep on Grantaire’s couch, he sneaks into his own bathroom and sobs and sobs until there are no tears left.  


	3. Chapter 3

At first, Enjolras tries to get through this as though nothing has happened. He has no right to show up visibly upset at meetings, not when Grantaire is going through much worse. He makes it through about a week of this before he calls Combeferre and Courfeyrac for a talk about feelings.

 

“What do I do?” Enjolras asks them.

 

“Well,” Combeferre says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What do you want?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“What is your goal in this situation? If everything worked out exactly as you’d like- and be as unrealistic as you please- how would things end?”

 

Enjolras hesitates. “I guess- well, I’d really like it if Grantaire were happy. I’d also- this is going to sound really shitty and selfish- I wish we were still sleeping together. I miss it.”

 

 “You don’t have to feel selfish for thinking something. Acting on it, though, that’d be selfish. Unless you can look at it, do it, in a way that isn’t-“

 

“I’ve been using him, ‘Ferre. You can say it.”

 

“That is fair to both of you.”

 

“I don’t think casual sex with Grantaire is ethically possible. Do you agree?”

 

Combeferre sighs. “I hesitate to make a moral judgment about someone else’s sex life,” he says.

 

“Absolutely,” Courfeyrac counters. “It is absolutely wrong, and you shouldn’t do it anymore.” At the sharp look Combeferre gives him, he shrugs.

 

“Is any consensual sex really unethical?” Combeferre asks.

 

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says. “This is not a complicated situation. Enjolras, unless you’re going to at least be friends with Grantaire, you can’t keep using him for sex. End of story.”

 

“You’re right,” Enjolras says. 

 

“But you also shouldn’t beat yourself up over wanting to have sex with him when you can’t,” Combeferre points out.

 

“Right,” Courfeyrac agrees. 

 

“He asked me out,” Enjolras says, guiltily. “Right before he left.”

 

“Like-“

 

“He asked me out for dinner. And then bolted, before I could answer.”

 

“Would you have said yes?”

 

Enjolras hesitates. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think so? But I don’t know if that’s wrong, too. Is that leading him on, if I’m not- if he’s in love with me, and I’m not-“

 

“No,” Combeferre tells him. “As long as you’re honest with him that it’s what you’re doing, that you’re trying to figure out how you feel and not that you’ve realized you’re in love with him, it’s fine.”

 

“Okay,” Enjolras says quietly. “You know I trust your judgment. Especially where Grantaire is concerned. For some reason, my own mind always seems clouded with regards to him.”

 

“For some reason,” Courfeyrac repeats, with a smile that Enjolras can’t quite understand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They don’t speak for several more weeks. It might have gone on that way forever, except that at Marius’ birthday party Courfeyrac makes a large number of strong drinks, and Grantaire is flirting with someone.

 

Well, not flirting, exactly.

 

Éponine, Marius’ friend, is there, and she’s brought her crowd of tough guys. They’re decent company at parties, though.

 

Except for the pretty one. Montparnasse, his name is, and he has red lips and appears to be wearing eyeliner and is grinning at whatever Grantaire is leaning close and saying to him.

 

Courfeyrac offers him another drink and Enjolras downs it, trying not to make the fact he’s staring at Grantaire too obvious.

 

“Jealous?” Courfeyrac asks.

 

“Maybe,” Enjolras grudgingly admits. “I know I have no right to be. And if it wasn’t someone who’s basically a criminal- not that I’m one to talk about treating R right-“

 

“You have a right to be concerned,” Courfeyrac says quietly.

 

“I guess- I guess I should keep an eye on him,” Enjolras says, and surprisingly Courfeyrac doesn’t object, just nods and goes to get everyone a round of shots, leaving Enjolras alone with his rum and coke.

 

Enjolras doesn’t drink a lot. It’s just that the more he drinks, the less sad he feels. He wonders if this is why Grantaire does it. Then he wonders if Grantaire does it because of him, and feels sick to his stomach, and takes another drink.

 

Most people have wandered out of the party by the time Combeferre wanders over to him and says, “Oh, fuck.”

 

Grantaire, who is nursing a drink in the corner, looks up. He’d had a nice chat with Montparnasse, but the other man came on way too strong, and he may be Grantaire’s exact type (pretty, dangerous) but Grantaire is, at his heart, a romantic. And as a romantic, however pathetic it may make him he isn’t ready to give up on the fact that Enjolras’ hands were the last to touch his skin.

 

So he waves ‘Parnasse off and goes to the corner to drink a glass of wine and watch his friends enjoy the evening.

 

He notices Combeferre’s whispered swear quickly, looking up to see Enjolras half-passed out on the couch. Without thinking, he goes over.

 

“I’ve got it,” Combeferre says.

 

Grantaire shakes his head. “Let me.”

 

“I’ll just let him sleep it off-“

 

“No, I’m going to take him home,” Grantaire decides. “You help Courf clean up from the festivities. I’m the expert drunk, anyway.”

 

“Grantaire…”

 

Grantaire’s voice softens. “I would rather die than hurt him. You know that, right?”

 

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Combeferre says quietly.

 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire murmurs, getting his attention. “I’m going to help you get home, okay?”

 

“’kay,” Enjolras mumbles.

 

Luckily, Enjolras’ apartment is just downstairs from Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s (and technically Marius’, as he’s been loitering on their couch for several months.) Grantaire is strong, and Enjolras is light, and so it’s easy to get him downstairs.

 

He wraps an arm around Enjolras’ waist and helps him walk. Enjolras relaxes into the touch, tucking his face against Grantaire’s shoulder. He’s a bit limp and very, very drunk and keeps mumbling things into Grantaire’s shirt. 

“You smell nice,” he says.

 

“Thank you,” Grantaire replies, amused. This is a bad, bad situation—there’s no way he’s walking out of this without an emotional disaster on his hands—but drunken Enjolras muttering into his chest is still pretty fucking funny.

 

“You’re strong.”

 

“You’re light. And a lightweight.”

 

“How do you drink this stuff all the time? ‘s icky.”

 

“You get used to it.”

 

“I’m sorry things didn’work out w’Parnasse.” This time, he sounds a little distraught.

 

“That was nothing,” Grantaire reassures him. “I don’t mind.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and then they’re through the door of his apartment. Grantaire settles him into bed and goes to get him a glass of water so it’ll be by his bedside when he wakes up. “No. Don’t go.”

 

“I’m not spending the night,” Grantaire says, trying to be firm, because he can’t keep doing this.

 

Enjolras looks at him, blue eyes wide and sad and a bit too unfocused, actually, maybe Grantaire shouldn’t leave him alone. “Stay,” Enjolras says, _pleads._ “My R.”

 

“I really can’t,” Grantaire says. “I’m going to be upstairs, though. At Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s. Call if you need anything.”

 

“Take care,” Enjolras mumbles, and he looks so helpless and pathetic, like he needs Grantaire the way Grantaire always needs him, and Grantaire really is hopeless.

 

Oh, fuck. Grantaire gives up. “I’ll be out on the couch.”

 

“Stay here. Need you close. Supposed to stay with you.”

 

“You’ll be okay. You can come get me if you need me.” Grantaire isn’t actually sure about the first bit, though. Enjolras is clinging to him, and his voice is shaky, and he looks way, way too drunk.

 

“You don’t understand,” Enjolras says.

 

“Explain it to me.”

 

“I didn’t take care of you. My R. You have to stay, let me take care of you,” Enjolras says, teary-eyed and trembling-voiced and Grantaire wants to run, but he doesn’t.

 

“I don’t think you’re taking care of anyone tonight,” Grantaire murmurs. He means it as a joke, and flinches when Enjolras reacts.

 

“Sorry,” Enjolras says, his voice breaking.

 

“Hey. Hey. I’m sorry. You’re all right. We’re going to be all right. We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”

 

“Stay?” Enjolras pleads.

 

“Right here. I’ll be right here. As long as you want me.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Enjolras leans heavily on Grantaire as Grantaire helps him get his shirt and shoes off and hands him a pair of sweatpants, turning his back though he’s not sure why. When Enjolras is changed for bed, Grantaire helps him lie down and tucks him in. Seconds after his head hits the pillow he’s asleep, and Grantaire smiles at him, leaving ibuprofen and a glass of water on the bedside table. He intends to go home, but Enjolras’ couch is twice the size of his bed and much more comfortable, and it’s like three in the morning, and Enjolras might wake up and need something, and it’s a terrible idea but he’s not exactly sober himself and he is exhausted and what’s the worst that could happen if he closes his eyes for a second.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire wakes up to the smell of pancakes and coffee and Enjolras’ voice as he sings to himself in the kitchen.

 

He always imagined heaven as being something like that (in the absurd moments when he lets himself believe there’s any such thing). Of course, without the moderate hangover, the bad back from sleeping on a couch, and the impending Serious Emotional Talk.

 

“Time’s it?” he manages.

 

“Almost noon,” Enjolras replies. “You’re awake! Breakfast?”

 

“Why aren’t you hungover? You were way drunker than I was.”

 

Enjolras shrugs. “Never get them.”

 

Grantaire groans. “I despise you,” and then immediately regrets it. Enjolras can’t quite hide his flinch.

 

“How do you take your coffee, R?”

 

“Black.”

 

Enjolras comes over with two mugs and hands Grantaire his, standing awkwardly for a minute nearby until Grantaire rolls his eyes, sits up, and says, “Sit on the damn couch, Enjolras.”

 

Enjolras does. “I- I cannot begin to apologize for my behavior last night. It was disgraceful.”

 

“You were drunk. I have done way more disgraceful things drunk, and we both know it.”

 

“Still. You tried to leave, and I coerced you into staying.”

 

Grantaire shakes his head. “Coffee first. Then you can feel guilty over nothing.”

 

Enjolras laughs, a little bit, and Grantaire can’t help but feel pleased by that. He’s made Enjolras laugh, sincerely, happily, and it had nothing to do with sex and almost nothing to do with politics.

 

They drink their coffee. “How did you sleep, R?”

 

“All right. Comfy couch. And you?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“When did you wake up?”

 

“Around nine. I rarely sleep past then.”

 

“Wow,” Grantaire says. “So many hours. Guess that’s why you get so much done. I heard breakfast?”

 

“Pancakes. I didn’t make them, I texted Courfeyrac and he brought them down. They had extras, apparently. I can’t cook.”

 

“I didn’t know there was anything you couldn’t do,” Grantaire says, and he wishes he didn’t mean it.

 

The pancakes are good. Courfeyrac puts a lot of love into his food.

 

“Are you going to make me talk about this again?” Grantaire sighs.

 

“Sorry. I just want to sincerely express that I’m sorry for last night, though I’m grateful for your help.”

 

“Okay, but what the hell happened?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“What- you were- I mean, do you remember the shit you said?”

 

Enjolras hesitates. “Some of it.”

 

“You begged me to stay. To let you take care of me.”

 

“I- the way things ended between us, the way I treated you- it’s been on my mind. A lot. I feel terrible.”

 

“Don’t. I don’t want that.”

 

“I care about you,” Enjolras says abruptly, and Grantaire freezes, a bite of pancake halfway to his mouth.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s not just a- a moral thing. I feel bad because I hurt you. And you’re my- well. I don’t know that we’re friends, exactly. And I’m not in love with you, not the way you- but I would… I think we could…

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“I think I might want to try,” Enjolras says.

“You want to go out on a date. With me,” Grantaire repeats, stunned.

 

“Yes. I need you to know that I’m not- I don’t have the same feelings you have, I want to be totally honest with you, but I’d really like to try.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I thought I didn’t- didn’t have time to treat you the way you deserve. Because I knew you deserve good things, that’s why I- in the first place. But I realized, I keep thinking… it’s selfish, but I want to be the one to give them to you.”

 

Grantaire looks down for a long moment and takes a breath. When he can, he says, quietly, “And this isn’t- Tell me this isn’t because you feel sorry for me.”

 

“I would never,” Enjolras assures him. “Never. I want to try.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Really?”

 

Grantaire shrugs. “Sure. It’s gotta be better than nothing.”

 

“Has it been hard?” Enjolras asks. “Since we stopped seeing each other?”

 

Grantaire laughs, short and harsh. “For a smart man, you ask some fucking stupid questions, Enjolras. Yes, it’s been hard. In case you’re wondering.”

 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Enjolras suggests. “It could be our first experiment into emotional intimacy. I could work on being someone who you can talk to.”

 

“If you care,” Grantaire says. “You don’t have to.”

 

“Of course I care.”

 

“I’ve been drinking again. A lot, sometimes. Usually I have one of our friends stay the night, because frankly I’ve been scaring the shit out of myself. I can’t fall asleep unless I cry myself to sleep or drink myself unconscious, and you can take your guess which one I decided I preferred. I thought about harder drugs when drink stopped working. I almost fucked Montparnasse, of all people. Montparnasse. I think he’s in a gang. It may even be his own, personal gang. And I almost did it just because- I don’t know. I wanted to piss you off? I wanted to prove that I can still have sex with people that aren’t you? I wouldn’t have cared if his crazy gang did decide to kill me in the middle of the night? I don’t know, Enjolras, but I’m messed up as hell and if you- shit. I’m sorry.”

 

Enjolras reaches over the table, reaches for his hand. “I asked. You can talk, if you want to.”

 

“I’m just- I guess it’s better to get this all out on the table, so you don’t think you’re getting something better than what I am. I’m a cynical alcoholic and you know that. I’m depressed and I hate myself, like no really seriously hate myself. I’m estranged from my family because they think I’m useless, which, oh yeah, is right. And I’m a big, big slut- I mean, you knew that already, but I’ve been with so many people, oh my God, and you were a virgin when we started fucking, because of course you were, you’re so fucking perfect. Let’s not even get into the appearance stuff because you are so beautiful and I’m, well, not. You’re tall and blonde and gorgeous and I’m this stumpy chubby little thing and I’m twenty-six years old and I still have acne and my nose is way too big and I have a really chubby stomach and stretchmarks which are just unattractive. I’m a smart ass who talks too much like I’m doing right now but I’m not eloquent and brilliant like you are I just ramble annoying nonsense. Also I’m totally in love with you because you’re everything I’m not. I mean you are so intent and driven and focused and I’m just this like- I don’t know. I have no goals. I’m formless. I’m nothing. It’s too much, the way I feel, it’s the biggest and best thing about me and I have to tell you now so I don’t scare you off later. I’m sorry, Christ, I am so fucking sorry, because you just wanted me to fuck and I knew that, I know that, and all I want is to make you happy and if I’d just kept my fucking pathetic issues to myself I could have had you, could have pleased you, and I-“

 

“Grantaire, shut up,” Enjolras says, and it’s not the first time. Grantaire’s mouth closes. “I’ll tell you a hundred times if I have to. I am so grateful you told me. What I want is _not_ a relationship where I take advantage of you for my own gratification while you suffer in silence, which is what we had. In fact, I’d like to try for something where we could both make each other happy. I think that’s possible.”

 

“You still want that? Even after I said all that shit? Because that doesn’t mean it’s done, Enjolras, I’m still going to be-“

 

“I know.” Enjolras smiles at him, and then leans over the table and kisses his forehead. “Thank you for last night, R.”

 

“I should go,” Grantaire says quietly. “I have- some commisions I need to work on, and-“

 

“Will you be done by seven?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Would you like to go out for dinner? With me. As a date.” Enjolras gives him a fond smile at that, knowing he’ll need the specificity.

 

“I- Yes,” Grantaire manages to say, all his words drying up.

 

“Meet me here?”

 

“Yes,” Grantaire says, and he can’t help but feel a little something like hope.

Grantaire almost doesn’t go.

 

He calls Joly to tell him so. “I’m not going to go,” he announces.

 

“Why the hell not?”

 

“Because I’ll fuck it all up and then he won’t even want to look at me anymore,” Grantaire says. “I’ll ruin everything, you know I will. And he’ll hate me by the time we’re done.”

 

“You are not standing Enjolras up,” Joly says. “Because then he really will be mad at you, and then you’ll feel terrible, and no one wants to deal with the fallout from that.”

 

“Thanks,” Grantaire mutters sarcastically.

 

“I’m kidding, R. You know I’m happy to patch you up as many times as you need to. But you aren’t going to just not show up. If worst comes to worst, and you really can’t do it, then bare minimum you need to call Enjolras and tell him. Honestly. Tell him that your anxiety about the date is too bad and you can’t do it. Or go.”

 

“What do you even _do_ on a date?”

 

“I don’t know. Remember how much you were freaking out before you started sleeping with him?”

 

Grantaire had spent a solid half hour repeating the words ‘Enjolras kissed me and I have no idea what to do’ to Joly and Bossuet, admittedly. “That was different. That was sex. This is a date. A date is, like, an audition for a relationship!”

 

“Don’t think of it like that,” Joly soothes. “You like Enjolras for a reason, right? Like, I know you venerate him and admire him and want to get to kiss his boots again and all that, but you also actually like his company?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“So think of it as a chance to spend time with him. Just the two of you. Plus, he’ll probably take you out to a nice restaurant or something. Free food!”

 

“Why do I even call you for advice,” Grantaire grumbles, but he doesn’t mean it.

 

“You’ll go?”

 

“Fine. I’ll fucking go.”

 

“You’d better not stand him up. Not to put too much pressure or whatever, but he’s been a holy fucking terror ever since the end of your- thing.”

 

“Really?” Grantaire asks. “I mean, I guess I just wouldn’t have thought he’d have-“

 

“Cared?”

 

“Yeah. But he-“

 

“He’s been alternately quiet and withdrawn and really, really pissy. You know. Like his usual self, but way, way more so. He’s always intense, but this was genuinely unpleasant. He misses you. The two of you idiots would be good for each other, if you could stop making each other miserable.”

 

“You think?” he asks, needing the reassurance because Joly is pretty damn smart about this stuff and he has a happy and functioning relationship with not one but two people who love him and care about him. Joly is nowhere near Grantaire’s level of fucked up but he has some issues of his own and he’s still, mostly, happy.

 

“I do. And in case you’re wondering, I took a poll around the apartment and everyone agrees that Enjolras really likes you in that green button-up so you should wear that.”

 

Grantaire sighs. “I would pretend like I wasn’t going to ask, but I wouldn’t fool either of us.”

 

“Enjoy your date. Let me know how it went.”

 

“I think _enjoy_ is a pretty high bar. Let’s hope I don’t burst into tears or run away.”

 

“That too.”

 

Grantaire hangs up the phone and goes to get ready. He showers, and then thinks about shaving, and then thinks about that time Enjolras had ordered him, voice low and husky like it was a dirty secret even though they were the only two people in the room, to drag his stubble over Enjolras’ perfect pale thighs and stomach and chest, leaving marks behind his sweet kisses, and decides not to. Then he gets dressed, his least paint-stained jeans and that button-up and a leather jacket, and then he puts on cologne that he finds in a drawer somewhere, and stares at himself in the mirror, and then he realizes that’s a terrible idea because the longer he looks, the more he’s going to see that what’s there isn’t enough for anyone, much less Enjolras.

 

So he just, while he can, goes.  

Enjolras answers the door at Grantaire’s first, tentative knock. He’s wearing his that red military-style jacket he loves so much over a white t-shirt and crisp black pants, and his long hair is flowing loose down his back instead of in the long ponytail he favors for everyday. He looks incredible—not even real, he’s so beautiful. He looks like some kind of angry ancient god, or a Classical hero. Grantaire resists the urge to reach for the golden curls, or to run home and paint him because he’s just too lovely to be real.

 

“Hi.”

 

“You came. I was worried you weren’t.”

 

“Sorry I’m late.”

 

“That’s okay.” Enjolras gently reaches out for his hand, and Grantaire tentatively takes it, lacing his calloused fingers with Enjolras’ long, thin ones. He’s always loved Enjolras’ hands, the pale, soft skin there an endless contrast to his own. He loves Enjolras’ hands pushing him down, or choking him, slapping him or spanking him, or tangling in his hair. This isn’t the first time they’ve been hand-in-hand—they’ve done a few scenes where Enjolras properly pinned him to the bed this way, his hands lacing with Grantaire’s to catch him off-guard and then that beautiful, predatory smile spreading over his face as he pinned Grantaire to the mattress to take him, but it’s the first time they’ve held hands just for the sake of it.

 

“You look really—beautiful,” Grantaire says, then regrets the word choice almost at once.

 

“So do you.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Grantaire says, almost laughing.

 

“I mean it. That’s a nice color on you.”

 

Grantaire clears his throat, trying to think of something to change the subject. “Where are we going?”

 

“It’s a surprise,” Enjolras answers. “Walking distance, if you don’t mind.”

 

“I’d love to.”

 

They leave Enjolras’ apartment, and suddenly Grantaire realizes they’re walking down the streets holding hands. He’s on a date with Enjolras, out in public where people can see them.

 

He’s spent so long believing the only way he’d ever be useful to Enjolras is shamefully and in secret, something good enough to be used but never acknowledged like this.

 

“What’s on your mind?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire tells him.

 

“It’s just- this is… this is really, really different than the way you treated me before. I might- I guess I might need some time to get used to it, or something. It just feels- maybe like you’re doing this because you feel guilty? And I wish you wouldn’t.”

 

“I’m not,” Enjolras promises. “I’m just trying to give this my best shot. Trying something new. With you. But thank you for telling me. It means a lot. And I know it can’t be easy.”

 

For the first time, Grantaire realizes that as much as Enjolras has hurt him, he’s also hurt Enjolras. The fact that he was lying to Enjolras for so long, and when Enjolras thought Grantaire trusted him so absolutely, had to have come as a betrayal, even if Enjolras tried to hide that hurt. Even though he was willing to make it all about Grantaire’s feelings.

 

He thinks back to Joly, telling him that Enjolras has been devastated ever since they stopped talking, and wonders.

 

Enjolras has made reservations for the two of them at a small Italian place a few blocks away.

 

“This is my favorite restaurant in the neighborhood,” Grantaire says.

 

“I know,” Enjolras replies, grinning. Then he admits, “I asked Jehan.”

 

Grantaire smiles back at him, wondering why Enjolras cared enough to ask. It’s like Enjolras was trying to impress him.

 

He upgrades that thought, from ‘trying to impress’ to possibly ‘trying to woo’ when he sees the table they have reserved, tucked away in the small patio behind the restaurant, fairy lights draped everywhere in the canopy of green that covers the space and a candle flickering at their table. There’s no one else on the patio, just the two of them, and Grantaire can hear the soft strains of the violin music being played inside the restaurant, and it’s already the most romantic date he’s ever been on. No one’s ever put this much effort into dating Grantaire before. It’s been more like casual hookups outside of bars. Nothing like this. 

 

“This is really—“ Grantaire says, losing his words halfway through. He’s not going to cry just because Enjolras made a romantic gesture. He’s not that pathetic.

 

“Too much?” Enjolras asks, concerned.

 

“It’s perfect,” he says. “I don’t need all this.”

 

“But you deserve it, R.”

 

Enjolras asks, as though he’s actually interested, in how Grantaire’s commissions are going. They talk about that, about their mutual friends, about a new play Grantaire wants to see—‘Maybe we could go together?’ Enjolras suggests—about how delicious the food is.

 

They don’t talk about sex or their past relationship, and they don’t talk about politics. It’s a little forced and a little awkward, but in a first date way, nothing more. Grantaire is surprised to find that they have plenty to talk about, even given what they’re avoiding. They are actually getting along better on this date than they ever have before. He’s having- they’re both having fun.

 

Grantaire makes a sarcastic joke about something and Enjolras honestly laughs at it, his expression one of pure joy, til Grantaire can’t help but join him. Enjolras starts passionately explaining how deeply unjust something one of his professors has done was, and Grantaire gets captivated, as he always does, watching Enjolras light up with passion. When Enjolras notices, though, instead of turning away from Grantaire’s gaze, his cheeks flush, as though he’s pleased.

 

They share dessert and it should feel ridiculous, the two of them eating off one plate with two forks. Enjolras leans in close to wipe a smudge of chocolate off the corner of Grantaire’s mouth, and Grantaire can’t resist the urge to kiss the pad of Enjolras’ thumb as it passes so close to his lips.

 

Enjolras smiles a blindingly bright smile at him.

 

When they’re done, Enjolras insists on covering the bill and walks Grantaire home. They’re holding hands again, like they fit together, like this is natural. It’s cool in the evening, the ever-changeable weather of Paris, and Enjolras doesn’t stop Grantaire when he takes it as an excuse to cuddle in a little closer, absorbing some of Enjolras’ body heat and the knowledge- one more time, he gets to be this close to Enjolras.

 

When they reach the door, Enjolras has an unreadable expression on his face. Grantaire feels his heart drop.

 

“What’s the matter?” he manages to ask. He’d thought things were going so well, that Enjolras was having a good time, that they were out on a date and the world wasn’t ending or anything.

 

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” Enjolras asks, almost shyly.

 

Grantaire is so relieved that the next words, stupid words, words that could ruin everything, come out in a huge jumble, before he can stop himself. “Enjolras, you do remember that you’ve literally had your entire fist up my ass before, right? Kissing is somewhat lower on the intimacy skill.”

 

Enjolras shoots him a look, and Grantaire wants to hide. He’s done it now. He’s pissed Enjolras off again, and Enjolras will realize how stupid this whole idea is and give up on the whole ridiculous concept of dating Grantaire. But when Enjolras speaks, his voice is very gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll scare Grantaire off if he says the wrong thing. “Forget what we have or haven’t done before. This is about what we’re doing now. And I want to know if this is something you want to do, now, with me.”

 

“Yes,” Grantaire says, before Enjolras even finishes talking.

 

It’s not like they’ve never kissed before. Sure, the sex was all casual, all as emotionless as Grantaire could pretend to be, but Enjolras was always happy to kiss him- or to withhold a kiss, teasing with his breath just warm against Grantaire’s lips as he pinned him down and made him beg for a kiss (and that was so good but also so painful because it felt so real, too real). Those kisses were the prelude to something more, though. Charged with passion, with want, with sexuality.

 

This is something completely new.

 

Enjolras wraps his fingers carefully around the back of Grantaire’s neck, pulling him in close. His touch is firm, controlling, like he knows Grantaire likes it, but affectionate too. Their lips touch. Enjolras’ mouth is warm and soft, opening, yielding as Enjolras never does. It’s over almost as soon as it starts, and Grantaire is left there, staring up at Enjolras as Enjolras smiles at him, bright-eyed and happy.  

 

“Good night, R. I’ll call you soon.”

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, stunned as he watches Enjolras leave.

* * *

 

 

Grantaire is over the moon about the date for the next couple of days. Then, as usual, as always, his depression hits, and hits hard.

 

He can’t be Enjolras’ boyfriend. He wasn’t even good enough to be Enjolras’ fuckbuddy.

 

Enjolras has never dated before and Grantaire’s supposed to be the one to convince him he’s worth it? Grantaire is supposed to be more important than his cause?

 

There were moments when fucking Grantaire could have been more important, obviously. Even Enjolras gets urges, has needs. Grantaire could have been there for him then. It was working.

 

But he had to fuck everything up with his stupid feelings and any minute now it’s going to be over.

 

His brain is awful.  He hates it. He hates himself. Every single part of himself. He hates the fact that he even exists. He hates his face and his body and his inability to take a good thing when he has it and his weakness and everything.

 

He can’t breathe, he’s panicking, and his whole body is betraying him. He can’t breathe. His lungs are closing in. Everything is going wrong. He can’t breathe. He’s useless and worthless and he can’t breathe.

 

Of course, that’s when the phone rings.

 

“Grantaire? How are you?’

 

Grantiare tries to answer, but can only take a shaky breath.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I- I’m-“ He hesitates, breathes again. “I can’t-“

 

“Okay. Where are you?” Enjolras sounds completely calm, in control.

 

“H-home.”

 

“I want you to breathe for me. Can you do that? In for a count of five, out for a count of seven.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Just focus on your breathing. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

 

“N-“ Grantaire starts to say, but the line has already gone dead.

 

Grantaire tries not to cry. He’s pathetic enough anyway. And like it or not, Enjolras is coming to bear witness to just how pitiful he is.

  

Enjolras told him to breathe.

 

He counts, like he was told. In for five. Out for seven. It’s not helping, he thinks. It’s not doing anything. It’s useless, just like him.

 

But he keeps doing as he was told.

 

And it starts to work. Breathing gets easier and easier, the more he forces himself to do it, and his mind is calming down. From the blaring haze of panic, he’s thinking more about doing what he was supposed to, doing as Enjolras asked.

 

Even though he’s not supposed to be thinking like that anymore, because it’s not like it was an order- although it sounded like one, and-

 

Breathing. He’s thinking about breathing. Nothing else.

 

And then Enjolras is there.

The other man bursts into the apartment without so much as knocking. He says Grantaire’s name, and Grantaire hazards a look up at him. He’s red-faced and out of breath, his golden curls in disarray. He must have run here.

 

“Go away,” Grantaire manages, but his voice is small.

 

“R? Are you all right?”

 

“Please,” Grantaire says. “Please just go.”

 

Enjolras hesitates. “You don’t want me here?”

 

I don’t want you to see how pathetic I am, Grantaire almost says, but doesn’t. “You don’t have to stay.”

 

“But do you want me to?”

 

Grantaire doesn’t answer that. Can’t answer that.

 

“If you’d rather I don’t- If I’ve done something to- if this is my fault, tell me. I can go, but I won’t leave you alone. Just tell me who to call- I know you said Jehan’s helped you before, or Joly and Bossuet, or Combeferre is a doctor and he probably knows-“

 

Enjolras doesn’t know what to do, Grantaire realizes abruptly. Enjolras doesn’t know what to do and he’s worried. He’s almost speechless.

 

There’s something Grantaire never thought he’d see. Enjolras losing his confidence.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Grantaire says. “I don’t want anyone else. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay.”

 

There are a lot of answers Enjolras could make to that. He could give Grantaire the space he was asking for at first. He could reassure Grantaire that he’ll always be here for him. He could tell him that it’s his responsibility to take care of him, and that he’s trying hard not to fuck it up again. But he doesn’t know how Grantaire would take any of that, so instead he just says, “If you think I can help, I want to.”

 

“Okay,” Grantaire says, looking down again.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Dizzy as shit.”

 

“C’mon.” Enjolras wraps an arm around his waist, helping steady Grantaire as he guides him over to the sofa. He sits, and Enjolras stands to go get him a glass of water. He doesn’t miss the way Grantaire flinches as he starts to pull away, and pauses for a moment to kiss his forehead before getting him a drink.

 

Grantaire sips slowly at the water. “Thanks.”

 

“Can I touch you?”

 

Grantaire hesitates, then says, “Yeah. Okay.” Almost as soon as Enjolras’ arm is around him, pulling him in to cuddle up against his side, Grantaire feels better.

 

“Do you have medication you can take?”

 

Grantaire shakes his head. “I used to just drink.”

 

“Have you thought about seeing a doctor?”

 

“Can we talk about this later?” Grantaire asks.

 

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

 

“What are you sorry for?”

 

Enjolras sighs. “A lot of things. I’m sorry for pushing. I’m sorry for not realizing what you were going through. I’m sorry this is the first time I’ve been here to help. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you can’t ask me for this.”

 

“You never answered before,” Grantaire says. “When I’d- that time I texted you, to ask if we could have a scene? And you didn’t answer… that just made the anxiety a thousand times worse, because then I was anxious that I’d bothered you, or that you thought I was a pervert for asking-“

 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras repeats, feeling miserable. Will he ever stop finding out ways he’s hurt Grantaire without even realizing? “I never meant-“ But that won’t help. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

 

“You’re here now,” Grantaire says, a faint smile appearing on his lips. 

 

Slowly but surely, Enjolras talks him down from the panic attack.

 

His voice is soft and gentle, like it never usually is, and he’s so very, very focused on Grantiare. It’s the passion he usually has when he’s making a speech, but it’s all at Grantaire now, and it would be terrifying if it weren’t so incredibly moving.

 

Enjolras cares.

 

Enjolras really fucking cares, maybe just because he really fucking cares about everyone in general and right now Grantaire is the closest he’s getting to the oppressed masses, whatever, Grantaire is going to take what he can get.

 

Because what he can get seems to be Enjolras practically crooning at him, telling him it’s going to be all right, promising not to leave him.

 

And Grantaire doesn’t care if it’s a lie it’s still the best thing he’s ever had. It’s as beautiful as any truth could ever hope to be. It’s enough.

 

Enjolras makes sure he drinks the water and then suggests he should eat something. He finds a box of macaroni in the back of a cabinet and then manages to burn the milk while making it.

 

Grantaire laughs at him, and it feels good. His chest is hollow from crying and it’s a little weird to be laughing at Enjolras and even weirder to be making mac and cheese with Enjolras but it feels really good to be happy even for a second.

 

They eat the mac and cheese together and Grantaire does feel better, stronger, after he’s done eating.

 

Even though it’s strange.

 

Even though it’s so painfully domestic that it might kill him.

 

This is the dream. All the fantasies he’s had about Enjolras, many of them filthy, others full of pathetically romantic nonsense that Enjolras would never do, all of them really end up here.

 

With Grantaire having a place in Enjolras’ life, in his home, at his side. The two of them fitting together, and not just quick and dirty in bed, a distraction, a release. The two of them making a life together.

 

And it feels almost like it’s happening as Enjolras washes the dishes in his sink and then borrows his toothbrush.

 

He sleeps in his boxers and a shirt of Grantaire’s which is both too short and too wide on him and it should make Grantaire a little insecure about the many flaws of his body as compared to Enjolras’ but he’s too mesmerized by the fact that Enjolras is wearing his clothes, _his clothes,_ and that there’s a tiny peek of his golden stomach visible between t-shirt and boxers.

 

“You’re staying?” Grantaire says weakly.

 

“If you’ll have me.”

 

“Yeah,” is all Grantaire can manage, and Enjolras just smiles and kisses him lightly and turns off the light.

 

There’s no sex, but Enjolras actually fucking stays the night. They sleep together in Grantaire’s bed, Enjolras’ arms curled around him.

 

Grantaire has a hard time getting to sleep, even though he’s exhausted as the anxiety slowly drains from his body, leaving him limp and drained in the aftermath. He’s tired, but he’s not sleeping, not as long as Enjolras is there.

 

Enjolras is holding him. Enjolras is practically fucking spooning him, and he’s never done this. They’ve cuddled before, sometimes, after the rougher scenes, but even when Enjolras hit Grantaire wrong with a clumsy blow that one time and then spent hours nervously hovering around, trying to make it right, they’ve never done this. He’s neve r been pulled into Enjolras’ arms with so much intensity, like Enjolras needs him there, might not know what to do without him.

 

Enjolras doesn’t seem to want to let him go. His arms are around Grantiare’s waist, his lips in Grantaire’s hair. Every so often he’ll murmur something in his sleep. His breath smells sweet and his heartbeat is slow and steady and soothing.

 

Grantaire is so happy it terrifies him.

 

He’s wanted this so much. He’s wanted it for so long.

 

He doesn’t need Enjolras to love him back. He doesn’t.

 

This is so much more than he could ask for.

 

He tries to lie quiet and still. It’s not particularly comfortable, though. His room is too hot and Enjolras is a little too bony and he’s lying at a bad angle, but he’s terrified to move. He doesn’t want to jostle Enjolras awake and have him leave, he doesn’t want to wake up himself and realize that it’s all a dream.

 

He wakes up with Enjolras sprawled all over him.

 

It’s kind of a nice feeling, actually. A little uncomfortable, but reassuring.

 

Enjolras is warm and soft and so very _there._

 

“Hey,” he hums into Grantaire’s chest.

 

“Hey, Enjolras. Breakfast?”

 

“In a minute. I want to cuddle for a little bit first. Is that okay?”

 

Grantaire laughs. “Of course that’s okay.”

 

“Let me know when you get hungry.”

 

“I will.”

 

Grantaire snuggles back into Enjolras’ arms. Enjolras shifts around a little, til they’re both in a slightly more comfortable position, Enjolras lying flat on his back with an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder and their other hands laced together.

 

They stay that way for a while, Enjolras occasionally pressing kisses against Grantaire’s forehead.

 

“Is it okay for me to say—“ Grantaire begins.

 

“What?”

 

“I just… I love you so much. Right now it feels too hard not to say it. I love you. And I know you don’t want to say it back, I know you might never—and that’s okay. I promise, I’m okay with that. But I want to say it, if it’s all right with you.”

 

“I am,” Enjolras assures him. “You can say whatever you want.”

 

“I love you,” Grantaire repeats, smiling up at him.

 

“I wish I knew what to say back.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything. You’re here.”

 

“And I’m happy to be,” Enjolras says.

 

They make breakfast together. Specifically, Enjolras fights with Grantaire’s aging coffee machine while Grantaire runs down to the boulangerie on the corner for croissants. Somehow, of course, he knows what kind of pastry Enjolras likes best. Enjolras shouldn’t even be surprised.

 

They eat their breakfast together, hands twined together on the flat surface of Grantaire’s kitchen table.

 

“What’s on your agenda for today?” Enjolras asks.

 

“I was kinda hoping to be savagely beaten and brutally fucked,” Grantaire suggests. “Any chance you’re working that in?”

 

Enjolras frowns. “Grantaire…”

 

“Oh, don’t get disapproving.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to. You know that, right?”

  
“Really? ‘Cause you haven’t exactly shown a lot of interest, lately. Seems like the whole feelings thing has sort of put a damper on you wanting me.”

 

“It’s not that, Grantaire.”

 

“Then what the hell is it? Before this, every time we spoke I barely got two words out before you were bending me over or ordering me onto my knees. Now you won’t even really _kiss_ me-“

 

“Because I was wrong!” Enjolras shouts, and Grantaire falls silent. “I was wrong, Grantaire. The way I treated you was wrong. I was unfair. I was unkind. I was selfish. I was cruel. How much of a mea culpa do you need before you know that I know? I shouldn’t have started fucking you in the first place. I only did it because I let my dick think for me, which normally I would never do. I treated you like crap because it was easy. It was easy to take what I wanted from you and never give you a second thought and I am… I am _ashamed_ of that. Do you understand? I’m fucking sick at myself, that I would do that to you. That I would take advantage of the fact that you care so much for me and use you the way I used you. I’m sorry but more importantly I’m sure. I’m sure I’ll never do it again. And if that means we never have sex again that’s what it means because I would rather die than be that person.  The kind of person who cares more about getting off than about other people, about my friends, about the person who would become my boyfriend—that’s not who I want to be. And I won’t take the chance of doing that to you again.”

 

Grantaire can’t speak for a long moment. “I don’t,” he says finally, “understand how anyone can be so right and so wrong at the same time.”

 

“What?”

 

“It wasn’t the kink that was wrong. Or the sex. I was the most enthusiastic possible participant in both of those things. I thought you knew that. I hope I made that clear when we first started talking about this stuff.”

 

“You did. That doesn’t mean I can ignore the fact that I pressured you. Used you.”

 

“I liked being used by you. I miss being used by you.”

 

Enjolras stares at him. “You do?”

 

“The fact that I needed some changes doesn’t mean I never enjoyed our scenes together. I don’t want you to use me in the sense that you actually don’t care. But if you wanted to use me to get off- hold me down and use my body and tell me what a good toy I am for you- and then stay and cuddle after? That would be amazing.”

 

“If you’re sure-“

 

“I need it, sometimes. I told you that. It makes me less anxious. Makes me feel useful.”

 

“You don’t have to fuck me or obey me to be worthwhile, R. I’m not comfortable with-“

 

“Sorry that my feelings make you so uncomfortable, I guess I’ll have to keep them to myself, then.” Grantaire smiles a little, trying to make it seem like he’s joking.

 

“That’s not what I meant!”

 

“What do you mean, then? Spell it out for me. Apparently I’m not getting it.”

 

“You don’t have to snap at me. I don’t know why you’re getting upset-“

 

“Could you make it any fucking clearer that I’m not worth your time?” Grantaire shouts. It feels surprisingly good to shout at him. “I get it. I used to make you happy or at least give you orgasms, and now I just make you miserable and sad and _guilty_ and if I could go back, if I could take back ever telling you, I would. Okay? I would.”

 

“You… you’d rather go back to that?” Enjolras says, his voice gentle, careful, and it reminds Grantaire of that awful day when he’d ruined everything.

 

“To when I made you happy, instead of dragging you into my miserable fucking feelings? Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

 

“You don’t think I’m happy?”

 

“I think you feel really, really sorry for me,” Grantaire says quietly. “I think you feel guilty about the fact that maybe you weren’t the best dom, and you pity me because I’m not enough, and you’re sorry that I’m in love with you.”

 

Enjolras is silent for a long moment. Part of him wants to call things off, wants to tell Grantaire that they can’t keep going, then, that this is just another sign that he can’t trust Grantaire to know his own limits. “No one’s ever loved me before, R. Not in a romantic way. I’m not used to it, but I’ll never be sorry for it, and I’ll never be sorry it’s you.”

 

Grantaire grins at that, involuntarily.

 

“You keep saying you think I’m doing this out of pity,” Enjolras continues. “Is there anything that would change your mind?”

 

“I don’t know,” Grantaire admits. “Time?”

 

“Did you mean what you said? That you’d rather have what we had before?”

 

“You were getting what you needed then, and I wasn’t. Now you’re not, and I am. I’d rather you be happy, if only one of us can be. Isn’t that what love is?”

 

“I am happy,” Enjolras says. “I’d be happier if you trusted me a little more.”

 

“I trust you to tie me up and beat me.”

 

“Not enough to believe I’m telling you the truth. But if time is what you need, we’ll have that. And if you want us to be having sex-“

 

“Yes, _please-_ “

 

“Then we can.” Enjolras hesitates. “You have to promise me you’ll stop me if I... I won’t get upset, I won’t leave you because of this, I swear to you. You have to promise you won’t let me go too far.”

 

Grantaire looks up, meeting his eyes. For a second, he looks sure and confident. “I promise.”

 

“Can I ask you to prove that by asking for what you want? What you’re hoping to get from the scene?”

 

“Sure. I’m hoping to make you feel really good. That’s all. I want you to use me, take me, possess me. I want to tell me what to do, what you want from me, and I want to do that for you, and afterwards I want you to hold me just like you did last night and tell me how I did. Like I said earlier.”

 

“That’s what you want from this?”

 

“That’s all I’m asking. I’m not asking for romance and flowers, for you to apologize forever for not treating me right before, for lovemaking on the beach or anything like that. I just want to be yours. I just…” Grantaire finds himself thinking back to those days, to something he’d said to Jehan after a scene left him aching and hollow. “I want to make you proud of me.”

 

“It’s hard for you to ask for this, isn’t it,” Enjolras realizes.

 

“Since last time I did, you tried to walk away? Yeah. It is.”

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I- Thank you. For your honesty. And… yes. Yes, we can do that. Tonight, if you’d like.”

 

“I would,” Grantaire says. “I really would.”

 

“Then that’s what we’ll do. I have work, but when I get back-“ And then Enjolras straightens his shoulders a little, settling into dominance in a way Grantaire hasn’t’ seen for far too long. “I’ll be back at seven. You’ll be on your knees, naked for me, waiting by my bed.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire says, and smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

When Enjolras walks through the door, the sight of Grantaire takes his breath away.

 

The other man is perfectly in position, kneeling still and quiet with his head bowed and his arms crossed behind his back. He’s naked, his cock lying half-hard in his lap. The only indication that he’s not completely relaxed is way he bites at his lower lip.

 

Enjolras walks over to him, cards his fingers through Grantaire’s curly hair. “Good boy.”

 

Grantaire doesn’t answer. He must be on his best behavior for tonight.

 

Gently, Enjolras tilts Grantaire’s head up so Grantaire can meet his eyes. He judges the other man’s expression carefully. Grantaire is smiling slightly, warmth in his gaze. “The rules for tonight are simple. You may speak as much as you’d like. Don’t move unless I tell you to. What’s the safeword?”

 

“Red. Yellow to pause.”

 

“Good. You’re going to use them if you feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable, or simply ask me to stop. I want you to feel free to communicate with me tonight. Whatever is on your mind.” Enjolras pets Grantaire’s hair a little bit. “Will you be able to do that? If you can’t, we can watch a movie or something. We can also have sex without the power exchange, if you’d be more comfortable with that.”

 

“Enjolras. I’m kneeling naked in front of you. I think it’s safe to say I feel pretty comfortable with some exchange of power.”

 

He would say something about that, but it’s just such a relief to have Grantaire snark at him. If there’s one sign that Grantaire is fine… “This is not something you are doing for my sake. This is something we, as lovers, as boyfriends, are doing together.”

 

“Boyfriends?” Grantaire says, and then of course has to turn it ironic. “You are ridiculous,” he teases fondly.

 

Enjolras’ hand tightens in Grantaire’s hair. “And you are mine. Aren’t you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What would you like me to do to you? Right now. Ask.”

 

Grantaire stares at him for a minute, and then says, “Hit me. Slap me. Please.”

 

Enjolras hits him across the face, hard and precise. Grantaire lets out a low moan as the print of Enjolras’ hand blooms pink on his cheek. “Now?”

 

“I want you to be in charge. I want you to tell me. Please.”

 

“I’m going to hit you again,” Enjolras informs him, holding Grantaire’s hair tight so he can’t flinch away as the back of Enjolras’ hand strikes his cheek, and then the front again. He gives another sharp, painful tug at Grantaire’s hair, just to be on the safe side. “Up. Get on the bed, on your back, spread your legs.”

 

Grantaire goes as he’s told. “My arms?” he asks, and, oh, Enjolras is going to have to be careful.

 

He’d expected to be cautious around limits and aftercare, but what he did wrong wasn’t just that. What he did wrong was that he didn’t listen to Grantaire, and that he created a situation where Grantaire didn’t feel safe asking for what he needed. And now he’s asking to be controlled, and Enjolras needs to listen now. “Crossed, over your head. I don’t want to tie you up tonight. I know you’ll stay where I put you.”

 

“I promise,” Grantaire says.

 

And then he’s spread out so beautifully for Enjolras, all his to play with, and Enjolras has missed this. He takes his time, takes pleasure in kissing the hollow of Grantaire’s throat, squeezing his sensitive nipples, biting the curve of his stomach. He leaves marks up and down his body and draws a hundred kinds of moans from his mouth.

 

He’d forgotten—or driven out of his mind—how good this is. How focused he can be on Grantaire spread out under him. How much there is to explore. Grantaire whimpers in pleasure if he’s pinched here but in pain just there. A tongue on his neck makes him react but nothing on his nipples. He likes being choked but loves the pressure of a hand on his neck just resting there even more.

 

Enjolras is going to learn every inch of him all over again.

 

He kisses Grantaire hard with a hand on his throat, putting just the slightest bit of pressure there.

 

“I should get you a collar,” he says.

 

Grantaire lets out a low groan at that.

 

“I could text you whenever I wanted, no matter how busy I get, make you put it on and jerk off for me, make sure you know whose you are.”

 

“Like I could ever forget,” Grantaire says.

 

Enjolras smiles, leaning in to trace the curve of Grantaire’s ear with his tongue. “You’re mine.”

 

“Say it again,” Grantaire pleads. Usually he’d repeat it, assure Enjolras that he’s all his, his boy, his pet, his fucktoy, but tonight is different. Tonight Enjolras insisted he should ask for what he needs and he’s going to, not passively but clear and true. “Tell me I belong to you. Tell me I belong. Please.”

 

Enjolras’ lips ghost over Grantaire’s neck, ever so soft. Grantaire can feel his breath, and then fiercely, his teeth, biting down, marking Grantaire. “You’re all mine. To play with, to use, to take care of. My beautiful toy.”

 

“Sir-“

 

“Would you like to be used?” Enjolras asks, his voice light and teasing. “I could do that. Open you up and fuck you just how I like, take your body however I want. Is that what you want?”

 

“Please,” Grantaire gasps, trying to stifle the instinct to buck his hips up towards Enjolras’ hand. “Please, sir, I need it. I need you. Please.” He’s incoherent. He can’t even think. All his mind can understand is how good this is, how perfect, being underneath Enjolras, being his again.

 

Grantaire thought he’d lost this forever, but now he has it and it’s better than ever before. Enjolras is here, with him, all his attention on Grantaire,  looking down at him like he’s something precious.

 

“Please, please, I’m yours. I need to be yours. I need you to do whatever you want to me. Anything. Anything.”

 

Enjolras hushes him, kissing his lips tenderly. “Bend your knees up,” he says softly. “I’m going to get you ready for me now.”

 

He’s uncharacteristically gentle in preparing Grantaire. He presses soft kisses to each of his spread thighs before slicking up his fingers, and as he starts to circle Grantaire’s hole, leaves possessive bites across his stomach. Still, he ignores his hard cock.

 

Grantaire is fine with that. He doesn’t want to get off right now. He wants to be used. He wants Enjolras to take him however he wants him, for this to be about his pleasure instead of Grantaire’s.

 

“What do you need?” Enjolras asks.

 

“Talk to me,” Grantaire says. “Tell me-“

 

“Yes, sweet boy. I will. I’ll tell you how hot and tight your body is for me, how perfect it is to do this to you. How I can’t wait to shove in and take you, but I’m going to be careful first because I want you desperate for me by the time I take you. I want you to feel every second of it. I want you to know down to your core how badly you need it, and exactly what that makes you—how that makes you my good, filthy slut.”

 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, his voice soft. “Please. I fucking need it so bad. Please.”

 

“Do you?” Enjolras murmurs, his breath warm and teasing against Grantaire’s spread thighs as he presses a kiss to the soft skin, his fingers slowly working Grantaire open. “Do you want me inside you?”

 

Grantaire shivers at the tone of his voice. “Please,” he repeats. He can’t think of any other words, too far gone. There’s nothing but Enjolras, Enjolras’ fingers inside him, Enjolras’ voice talking to him, Enjolras’ lips gentle against his skin.

 

“Color,” Enjolras insists.

 

“Green,” he manages. “Please, I promise. I want this so much. I need you. Please.”

 

“Ready?”

 

“Yes, sir. Please.”

 

“Shh,” Enjolras soothes, moving back up so he’s face-to-face. He kisses Grantaire, long and slow, and Grantaire is so distracted by the warmth of Enjolras’ lips that he doesn’t notice him wiping his hand off or lining himself up, doesn’t know anything except the heaven that is kissing him until suddenly Enjolras is sliding into him. 

Grantaire’s moan is lost in Enjolras’ lips. Enjolras is face to face with him, kissing him, pushing deep into his body, holding him down. He’s everywhere. He’s everything.

 

Enjolras isn’t gentle with him. Thank God, Enjolras isn’t gentle, isn’t slow and nervous and cautious. He’s careful, though. He takes a second’s pause when he’s all the way in, circling his hips just slightly, to murmur, “Like that, whore?” against Grantaire’s lips.

 

“Yeah, fuck, please-“ Grantaire moans in reply, much too far gone to beg coherently or seductively or even to know what he’s saying. All he can think of is Enjolras.

 

Enjolras shifts a little, so his hands are around Grantaire’s wrists, pinning him down, and the position can’t be that comfortable for him, the way he’s holding himself up, but Grantaire can’t do more than think before Enjolras is thrusting into him again, faster and faster, and suddenly his mind is blank.

 

He’s in a haze of subspace and pleasure, and everything is right. He closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling but then quickly opens them again, not wanting to miss the way Enjolras is looking at him, the burning intensity of his blue eyes or the little smile he gives Grantaire as their gazes meet.

 

He moves back, tilting his hips as far up as he can so Enjolras can get a better angle without having to move his hands. He wants Enjolras to hold him down forever, to always be pinned underneath him.

 

Enjolras nuzzles at his neck and then bites, a sharp pain that contrasts beautifully with all the pleasure. Grantaire keens, letting his head fall back, hoping Enjolras will take advantage of all the exposed skin.

 

Instead one of his hands leaves Grantaire’s wrists, tracing down his arm to rest ever-so-lightly around his throat. The gentleness is a contrast to how fiercely he’s fucking Grantaire. He doesn’t put any pressure there, but he lets Grantaire feel the weight of his hand.

 

Grantaire is lost in pleasure, but that doesn’t mean the symbolism doesn’t hit him. His life is in Enjolras’ hands. He’s owned, controlled, taken.

 

Enjolras could take anything in the world from him, and Grantaire would gladly give it. Everything he is is Enjolras’.

 

He wants to buck into the thrusts but he’s not allowed to move, he’s not allowed to do anything except lie here and feel it. He feels almost selfish, lying on his back with his legs spread, nothing to do but enjoy being fucked.

 

“Please,” he says instead, because he is allowed to talk, although he’s gasping out words, breathless, lost, “Please, Enjolras, please, keep going, please take whatever you want from me, please make me all yours-“

 

Enjolras kisses him, a clumsy clash of lips and teeth that’s more bite than caress. “You are _always_ mine,” he says, his voice fierce, and then, suddenly, gentle. “I love you.”

 

“Don’t-“

 

“Would I lie to you? Grantaire, I love you.”

 

Grantaire feels like he might cry. He feels like if it weren’t for Enjolras’ hands on him, he’d shake into a million pieces, shatter into nothing. He doesn’t know what to say, except, “Please, please-“

 

Enjolras lets go of his wrists, and Grantaire barely has time to regret that before he’s ordering, voice low, “Touch yourself. Make yourself come for me, come on, I want to see.”

 

He does as he’s told, helpless in the wake of everything he’s feeling. Enjolras looks at him the whole time, watches his face intently. Normally he hides his face when he’s coming, embarassed by the expression he makes, but Enjolras won’t let him.

 

With a hand on his cock it doesn’t take him long. His orgasm is long and slow, waves of pleasure washing over him. In the aftermath he feels warm and sated, so exhausted he can’t do anything except lie there. He always relishes this, when he’s the first to get off, when afterwards he can feel like this, pliant and happy, drifting in subspace as Enjolras uses him. He feels, as though he’s floating from far away, his partner’s thrusts speed up, and then slow, as Enjolras half-collapses on top of him in the wake of his orgasm.

 

For a long time afterwards, they don’t say anything. Grantaire is in Enjolras’ arms, pinned beneath him with Enjolras’ weight on his chest and his clever fingers combing through Grantaire’s messy curls.

 

Grantaire is the first to speak, because he’s never one to choose silence over sharing his opinions.

 

“I can’t believe you confessed your love for me _during sex._ While I was _tied to the bed._ You really are not a natural romantic, are you,” Grantaire says, but his tone makes it crystal clear that he’s just joking.

 

Enjolras just kisses the top of his head and murmurs, “I figured you deserved to know right away. As soon as I was sure.”

 

Grantaire knows he shouldn’t, but he has to ask. “What made you sure? I mean, how did you know?”

 

“I just- I was looking down at you, and thinking- you’re mine. This wonderful, gorgeous man giving himself to me, so generously, and- my heart just felt so full. Too full. And I don’t know if that’s always how love feels, or if it’s just for me, but I knew- I never wanted to feel better than that, not in my life, not ever.”

 

“You’re still never living it down,” Grantaire grumbles, but it’s clear that he’s moved by Enjolras’ words.

 

“I’m so glad you gave me another chance,” Enjolras says. “Really, truly, I am.”

 

“I’m glad you had to ask for one,” Grantaire replies. “Things are so much better now.”

 

“Good. You’re happy?”

 

There’s a note of insecurity at the end there that sounds very unfamiliar on Enjolras’ lips.

 

“I’m fucking ecstatic,” Grantaire confirms. “Just so you know. A little tired at the moment, but later I promise to jump for joy and everything.”

 

Enjolras grins. “Cute.”

 

“Yeah, it’ll be adorable. Soon as I get out of this bed. Any second now.”

 

“You look pretty comfy here to me.”

 

“I am.”

 

“Maybe, you know, you should just stay right where you are.” Enjolras kisses his cheek, scooting a little bit so that he’s on his side, an arm draped around Grantaire. “Let me hold you.”

 

“I guess I could be persuaded to do that.”

 

“Good,” Enjolras says, and then, smiling, “Good boy. I love you, R.”

 

“I love you too. A lot.” Grantaire turns and hides his face in Enjolras’ chest, letting Enjolras pet his hair. It’s surprisingly gentle and soothing. Tender, almost.

 

Grantaire hums, content, and curls up in Enjolras’ arms, feeling completely safe. 


End file.
